Solace of Silence

Summary: The Crusades are endless and peace is rarely in sight. Hope can kill and trust is fleeting. Who is Robin of Locksley to trust in a land of hostiles? Crossover with "Assassin's Creed" -Pre-Season 1-

Part 1 - Investigation

July, 1191

ACRE, HOLY LANDS

The spurt of blood
sprayed into a messy mist across his cheek, but he didn’t really
acknowledge it as he blindly wiped it away with a gloved hand before
ripping out his blade and immediately stabbed it into the next
soldier that charged at him. The Saracen choked slightly as his
bloodied blade tore through him and he stared grimly at the
particular soldier’s face before pulling the blade out, coated with
the fresh shine of the soldier’s blood. The Saracen fell back onto
the dusty ground and choked once before stilling in deathly silence.

Robin of Locksley
shook his sword to try to get the blood off of it and was a bit
dismayed that only a couple of droplets fell to the ground. Cleaning
the blade would be hell tonight he mused silently to himself as he
glanced up at the battlefield of carnage. His brown hair was sweat
slicked and half covered in blood, none of it his thankfully, but the
stench of it permeated through his nose. He did not gag though,
having already used to the smell of blood and dead bodies long ago.

As his eyes scanned
the battlefield of the city known as Acre, he could see his remaining
men finishing off the Saracen forces of Salah al-Din that had tried
to stop them from invading the city. It was almost over and most
definitely a victory for the King and his forces. However, he knew
the cost had come at a steep price. There would be pockets of
resistance still even though the combined English and Franken forces
had stormed the port city and had taken over much of it.

Many good men had
died today defeating the Saracens. He had a feeling that Salah
al-Din or Saladin as he was known to them, would not be pleased. Yet
it was the right step in the right direction to reclaiming the Holy
City of Jerusalem from the barbaric forces the man commanded. He
hoped that now that they had an assured footing closer to Jerusalem,
his King and allies including King Phillip would be able to push
faster to the Holy City thus ending the bloodshed.

“Master!”
Much’s plaintive cry made Robin stop his scan of the area and
instead stared at his manservant who was running towards him, a bit
battered, but otherwise healthy looking.

Robin could feel
the tug of a relieved smile pushing the corner of his lips, but
instead nodded at greeting to him.

“Much,” this
time Robin let the tired smile appear on his face, “stop. I’m
fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But Master-“

“Much,” Robin
said in a warning tone, but kept the smile on his face so to show his
faithful servant and friend that he was serious, but not too serious.

“Yes Master,”
Much stopped his fussing and instead stared at his bloodied sword,
“Can I at least clean your sword, Master? It’s going to rust at
this point.”

“Just a quick
clean. And have you seen Tomas?”

“Over there,”
Much took his bloodied sword and quickly wiped as much of the blood
from it as he could before handing it back to him. Robin sheathed
the sword and glanced over to where Much was pointing. His faithful
second-in-command was wiping the grime and blood off of his own sword
before sheathing it and looking around.

Robin raised his
hand, catching Tomas’ attention and the jogged over to them,
straightening his helm that had fallen over one of his eyes. His
dark brown hair was matted against parts of his face and back down
the nape of his neck. His armor and chain mail were bloodied and
dirty from the fighting they were doing to take the port city, but
otherwise, Tomas looked unharmed. “Sir,” Tomas greeted. His
voice was forever youthful, but Robin knew the man was at least ten
years older than he was.

“How many?” he
asked quietly as he absently handed Much a waterskin bag and his
manservant left his side to help the other men who were left alive on
this bloodied battlefield.

“The First and
Second columns were wiped out and Third were almost routed if not for
Carter’s rally with the Fifth. The King himself lead the charge
into the portcullis – he is fine, Robin,” Tomas held up a hand
against his plated chest to stop him from even speaking and Robin
closed his mouth, giving him a wiry grin.

“You know me too
well, friend,” he shook his head slightly, “where is the King
now?”

“I last saw him
riding towards the stables by the left hand side of the walls. I
think he’s sent Alphonse and his column off to form a perimeter and
search for remnant forces.”

“Alphonse? The
man doesn’t even know how to shoot straight,” Robin frowned,
“take your men and join up with him. My orders.”

“Yes sir,”
Tomas nodded before grabbing the waterskin from Much’s hand as he
came back and took a long gulp before wiping his mouth with the back
of his hand and headed off, calling to his men to gather around him
and they headed into the battered and smoldering remnants of the gate
to Acre.

Robin watched as
the last man disappeared into fog-like cover of smoke and dust from
the battlefield before turning to look at his own men that Richard
had given him to command for this assault and to his dismay saw that
at least half of them had been killed during the fierce and long
fight. They had been the closest to the King’s column, Robin’s
position as Captain of the Private Guard had assured that, but during
the midst of the battle, they had been separated and ended up
fighting a small force of Saracens who were determined to re-take the
gate.

He didn’t know
how they had slipped past both King Phillip and Robert de Sable’s
men, all whom were ruthless in their own right, but this small group
of Saracens had proven to be much harder to fight than the usual
rabble Salah al-Din had thrown at them. “Corin!” he called a
lanky boy over, one of their pages who had been assigned to his
column. When the battle had started in earnest he had told the boy
to hide behind one of the merchant stalls and not to come out until
it was safe to do so.

“Sir?” his
French-tinged English made his answer almost unrecognizable.

“Tell Robert to
send his troops to secure the gate. We hunt Saracens, King’s
orders,” he made sure to emphasize that it was the King’s orders
to Corin, and the boy nodded, giving him a smirk before running off,
the grey-red tunic and pants he wore flying behind him. He was
wearing the colors of King Richard and thus would not be harmed by
either Phillip or Robert as he ran to their positions.

However, if there
were any other Saracens around between the gates and the road leading
out to the plains, they would see that the boy was unarmed and not
even wearing armor. Robin keep and watch on Corin’s form before
the boy disappeared over a ridge and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“Master, your
bow,” Much’s voice made him turn slightly to accept his primary
weapon and slung it over his right shoulder. Even though he was
competent in fighting with a sword, he never really liked using one,
preferring to hit his enemies from a distance with his God-given gift
of accuracy with a bow.

His accuracy was
enhanced further with a Saracen recurved bow that he had stripped
from an assassin who had tried to ambush his liege’s encampment
just days ago. Robin had managed to fell the man and Richard himself
presented the bow to him as a reward. Robin had immediately started
practicing with it, wondering how a Saracen could shoot an arrow from
the distance they had been in and nearly hit his King.

He was shocked to
find out that the bow was deadly accurate, if in the hands of a
marksman. Luckily, the assassin was not a marksman from where he had
stood. So Robin switched his longbow to the recurved one. But when
they had almost been routed today, he had to abandon it for close
quarters combat. His arrow pack had stayed snug against his back and
had even protected him from a couple of blows when he had been
fighting.

“Was it necessary
to say that it was the King’s orders Robin?” Much asked as they
stepped past a couple of bodies and towards the rest of his unit who
were gathering in a small group, some of the men hugging and slapping
each other on the back, others saying quick prayers by the bodies of
their fallen comrades.

“Yes, otherwise
you know Robert. He will not comply with anything unless it comes
from the King’s own mouth,” Robin shook his head, looking
sideways at his manservant. Sometimes, he thought Much was a little
bit daft at times. Other times…well…those times he was glad to
have such a good friend along.

“But…oh,”
Much’s eyes lit up as he realized what Robin had done.

Technically the
King did not order Robert, but Robin knew he had enough clout with
the King to force an order if necessary and plus he knew his King
valued his strategies on more than one occasion. Pulling Robert de
Sable and some of his men back to the gates of Acre would be
beneficial should Salah al-Din launch a counter attack from the
plains. King Phillip of France’s men would be first in line to
defend against the attacks and plus it would save Robert from losing
too many of his men, all whom were united under the English banner.

Robert was
Norman-French; no doubt about that, same as the King, but Robert was
more loyal to the King than to Phillip. He had seen and heard the
whispers of Phillip and his lieutenants grumbling about Richard and
his control over Normandy when they had first arrived and while the
two Kings did work in harmony for the most part, Robin knew that
there was a silent power struggle going on between the Kings.

And since Robert de
Sable was one of the more charismatic of Richard’s generals, he
wanted to make sure that Robert was closer to the King. However,
Robin still had his suspicions about de Sable, not of his loyalty to
Richard, but mainly towards the dark dealings he had heard from the
pages and soldiers around the camps. His plan was to keep Robert
close to Richard, but also keep him close so that Robin could keep an
eye on him.

But after all of
this, he would still have to tell his King what he had done or else
Robert’s fury would fall upon him and therefore crush his efforts
to find out what the man was really after in the Holy Lands and if he
was truly loyal to Richard and their cause. They did not need
another Phillip who was teetering on the edges of disinterest towards
their cause. Besides, de Sable was Grand Master of the Knights
Templar, his own elite cavalry and knight forces that were
instrumental against Salah al-Din’s light cavalries. Robin knew
how much the King relied on de Sable’s support and efforts in each
of the battles they fought.

“Sir, flags!”
one of his men suddenly called out and Robin turned to see him
pointing at the ridge where young Corin had disappeared off to and
saw the banners of de Sable coming towards them.

Robin tilted his
head slightly, stretching his neck and steadied himself for what was
probably an irate de Sable coming to see him. He had no doubt that
the Grand Master had probably seen through his attempted ruse and
wanted to talk with him face to face. The Private Guards and Knights
Templars never really got along with each other. The only one that
seemed to straddle both lines was Carter, a young Englishman whose
roots were deep within one of Sable’s territories Anjou, who was
also excellent horseman.

He saw his men
scatter to the side as de Sable thundered through the main path to
Acre, ignoring some of the shouts of a few wounded men who barely got
themselves out of the way of his horses and pulled his charger to a
halt right before Robin. Robin let the corner of his lips twitch up
in a slightly feral smile as he eyed the large charger whose flanks
were covered in matted sweat and eyes slightly rolled back into its
head. The horse was tired, but Robin knew that it would carry its
master to the ends of the Earth if need be.

“Captain
Locksley,” de Sable greeted him curtly with a nod of his head.

“Grand Master de
Sable,” Robin also nodded his head. Technically, while he was only
a lowly Captain, he was also the leader of the Private Guard which
meant he had equal footing with any of Richard’s generals.
However, how de Sable managed to make his title sound like a
peasant’s was even beyond Robin himself. But he also was too well
versed in the barbs he constantly traded with de Sable whenever they
talked to let such taunts fall upon him.

“The King, he has
ordered my men to guard the gates, yes? To what reason as I am a
busy man and have more pressing matters to attend to,” de Sable
asked, his French-accented English heavy and almost unrecognizable to
untrained ears.

“The King had
ordered his Guard to help in the search for any Saracen forces left
in Acre. He believed that the Knights Templar would be beneficial as
a secondary defense force,” Robin lied through his teeth, but also
made his voice steady and hard as if he was relaying real orders from
Richard himself.

The Grand Master
snorted indignantly, “Leaving ailing Phillip on the front lines is
hardly beneficial, however my King knows of my pressing matter. I
will leave Carter in charge, will that satisfy you Captain?” Robin
could see the man’s eyes staring at him calculating. He suspected
that his “orders” weren’t quite truthful, but also wasn’t
willing to risk Richard’s wrath if they were true. Instead,
leaving Carter in his stead was mutually beneficial to both factions
and thus would appease the two of them.

“Yes,” Robin
replied shortly before he saw de Sable wave Corin forward, the young
boy a bit winded looking, but otherwise brightened at seeing Robin.
However, he paused by the large warhorse and looked up at de Sable,
ready to take his orders. Robin could see fear in Corin’s eyes,
but the boy held himself steady to such a great and powerful man.

“Carry a
message to Carter and his Fifth Column. He is to pull his forces to
watch the gates and await my return,” he ordered the boy in
French before Corin nodded before hurrying away towards the secondary
gates to deliver his orders.

“Where do you
ride to?” Robin asked as de Sable wheeled his horse around, the
charger whickering slightly, glad to be on the move once more.

Robert turned his
head slightly, “Your curiosity will be your undoing, Captain. Can
a man not pray to God in peace?”

This time it was
Robin’s turn to snort indignantly as de Sable heeled his horse in
the ribs and it started off, his men following behind him, leaving a
trail of dust and debris. Robin watched as they disappeared over the
ridge and shook his head. He did not believe that Robert de Sable
prayed like any pious man did. No, he knew Robert was headed off
somewhere and the clues were in his words. The only question was,
what temple, if any, around the area that they held did Robert go off
to?

With Robert gone,
he turned and started to pick at the arrows embedded in some of the
dead Saracens, trying to see if they were salvageable. It was dirty
business, Robin knew that, but he also wanted to conserve resources.
They may have finally taken Acre and have a secured port city in
order to bring in supplies, but that didn’t mean they needed to
waste resources.

Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw his men doing the same, checking for spare weapons
or any useful ones off of Saracen bodies. Their own people however,
they did not touch. That was one line Robin would not cross –
grave robbing his own men. Much stood silent next to him; his hands
holding the arrows he had thought were salvageable. His manservant
knew better than to talk while he was doing his silent work. He
stepped over the body of a Saracen soldier, teeth still bared in the
rictus of death and pulled an arrow embedded quite shallowly in his
fallen comrades’ leg.

Flies were already
buzzing around the area and he absently waved them away from his face
before giving the arrow to Much and pulled another one out of the
same man. However, the shaft broke halfway and he stared at it,
shaking his head. His men were fine archers, some personally trained
themselves, and he couldn’t blame the force in which their arrows
had struck the enemy.

Throwing the broken
shaft away, he continued to the next few bodies, collecting the
arrows that he could salvage. Both of Much’s hands were nearly
full when the distant sounds of horses galloping their way made Robin
turn and look towards the ruin battlements to see the flags of the
Fifth Column coming towards them.

“Master…” he
held up a hand to shush his manservant as he saw a familiar
blond-haired man with piercing grey eyes riding up towards him, an
easy, but tired grin on his face.

“Carter Tulane,”
Robin returned the grin, gripping his outstretched hand tightly
before slapping him on the shoulder.

The two of them had
an odd sort of greeting with each other. Technically Robin was
usually addressed as Robin of Locksley, but Carter had decided when
they had first met to shorten the ‘of’ in his title and instead
give him the last name of Locksley, like one of the King’s courts
of nobles instead of just a regular noble’s title. And so Robin
returned the favor, knowing that having an ally like Carter and
fellow Englishman within the Knights Templar would be very useful.

“Much,” Carter
looked over to Much who had a slightly sour expression on his face,
“still alive?”

“No, quite dead,”
Much replied sarcastically and Robin chuckled slightly. Somehow, he
never quite understood why Much did not like Carter and apparently
the cavalryman had picked up on that and teased him to no end about
the littlest things. He had tried to ask his manservant about it,
but Much was very tight-lipped and would not say a thing. He thought
he was jealous of his friendship with Carter, but apparently Much did
not mind his friendship with any of the men within the Private Guards
nor with some of the locals they had befriended as they rode to Acre.
It was only Carter that Much somehow did not like.

A thought occurred
to him, was it because Carter was a Knights Templar? Surely it
couldn’t be the reason…

“Well, I’ll
have to take those arrows of yours and shoot them in you to see if
you are truly dead,” Carter gave him a wolfish smile before turning
back to Robin, “Corin came over and told me that Robert wanted me
to watch the gates?”

“I’m sending my
men ahead to join Tomas in searching Acre for any remnant pockets of
resistance and attending to the King,” Robin gestured with a chin
towards the damaged portcullis, “if you can set up a perimeter, it
would be much appreciated.”

“You’re lucky
that the Fifth is so good,” Carter replied a bit arrogantly, “we’ve
got men to spread around.”

Robin frowned at
the implied statement and saw the leader of the Fifth Cavalry hold up
his hands, an apologetic smile on his face, “Sorry, old habits. I
know you meant to keep these lads alive. But we can do it.” He
coughed awkwardly, “So, did Robert say where he was going? Corin
didn’t say.”

“Your Master,”
Robin could barely keep the contempt out of his own voice, but he
knew Carter did not care that his tone was borderline rude when
talking about de Sable, “said he was going to pray to God.”

“More like have a
woman pray to him on her knees,” one of Robin’s men muttered none
too loudly and Robin glared at him, shutting him up immediately, “my
apologies sir.”

Carter had a mild
look on his face at the comment and Robin wondered if he had stored
the insult in the back of his head to use later or even to do
something with it. He knew the man was shrewd and would have never
straddled the lines between Knights Templar and friend of the Private
Guard without keeping some information to himself. It was what made
him an excellent source of information too. However, he also knew he
had to be cautious around the man since he was a Knights Templar
after all.

“If he rode away
from here, the only known temple I know is Solomon’s Temple in
Jerusalem. But how he could get into that Saracen infested city is
beyond me,” Carter shrugged indifferently before turning his voice
cheery again, “well, you lot better get a move on. The big cavalry
boys are here now.”

“Yeah, you and
your precious steeds,” another one of the men snickered and Robin
rolled his eyes at his men’s antics. Even some in the Fifth Column
who had ridden over with Carter were snickering, the banter between
the two factions light in the aftermath of such a bloody battle.

“My men,” he
decided to get them into a semblance of an elite military unit, “form
up, ranks. Wounded, to the medical tents, not so wounded,” he gave
them a slightly arched look, “help Tomas.”

Some of his men
gave him wounded looks and a slight grumble filled the air, but Robin
knew that it was very good-natured and his men would not hesitate to
help out the second branch of the Private Guards. They were all
brothers-in-arms and thus wanted to help each other, especially if
there was more hunting down of Saracens involved. Nodding to Carter,
he followed his men as they formed into three lines, the wounded in
the middle line, the two outside lines protecting the wounded and
started marching towards the main gates.

Robin took up to
the side of the patrol formation, inspecting each and every one of
his men with a critical eye. Many of them sported minor wounds, and
the grievous ones sported some stab wounds, but were otherwise
mobile. They would live, the men that survived this battle would
live, he was sure of it. A sense of pride filled him as he marched
along side of them, giving a rueful smile to some of the other
commanders of smaller units and soldiers who were by the broken gates
staring at them as they marched past. He had disciplined and trained
his men to be the best and the elite; choosing them from the English
and French men that Richard had recruited from his domains to join
him on his Holy Crusade.

The Private Guard
was one of the most elite archery and sword battalions ever to serve
the King. They weren’t as prestigious as the Knights Templar or
other cavalry or lancer forces, but every one of his men was a sure
shot and good with a sword. They were the King’s last line of
defense and his shadow protectors. Richard always had at least a
small contingent of three to four cavalry men around him, but Robin
made sure that the Private Guard was also always around Richard,
protecting him even though he may not have seen them.

However, when he
wanted to, he made sure that people noticed the Private Guard and by
having them march into the battered gates of Acre, the bleak and
desolate grey-black smoking houses in the poorest and hardest hit
section of the city, it ensured that everyone knew who had conquered
Acre. They were marching in like victorious soldiers who hadn’t
come from a bloody battle, but looked like they had just taken a
jaunt out to Church and back.

“And halt!”
Much called out behind him in French, the unofficial guide of the
march for the most part and his men stopped suddenly, standing ridged
in the middle of the market square after passing through the gates.
Around them the burnt, smoking, and half-destroyed buildings of
homes, business, and stalls were a testament to how bitterly Acre had
fought huddled some of the surviving merchants, Palestinians, and
some Saracen civilians.

All of them were
staring wide-eyed at the parading group and Robin noticed that many
of the wounded and resting Crusaders who had just decided to take
refuge in the shade of a few burnt husks of houses from the blasting
heat of the summer, were also staring at them. Some had half-smiles
on their faces, while others looked a bit shocked at seeing such a
grandiose display of both wounded and hale Crusaders.

“Seamus, Michael,
Julian, split the men, find Tomas and continue the search. Geoff,
you and the rest of the wounded to the medical tents,” he looked at
them solemnly, “well done, men.”

That was their cue
to break formation and they did, the three he had pointed out
chattering excitedly with the others before they headed deeper into
the city, waving goodbyes to some of the other Crusaders who were
resting. He saw Geoff and the other wounded limp off to the medical
tents which were pitched on the right side of the gates. Already, a
faint odor of decaying flesh was emanating from the area, but Robin
couldn’t exactly tell since the smell of burnt flesh was still
cloying the air from the battle.

“Much,” he
gestured to his friend to follow him as they turned to their left and
walked past a series of off-white tents already set up on the left
side of the gates. These were the generals’ tents and Robin knew
that they had been erected in a hasty fashion since the King took the
city.

His own tent would
have already been set up next to the King’s tent and he found his
right next to a lavish and large tent pitched further into the side
of the city. A rather large mound of debris from the ballistas and
trebuchets that had knocked rocks into the buildings was piled up on
one side of the tent, a sure way of protecting the King from any
enterprising assassination attempt from the roofs, but also provided
him some shade from the hot sun that his tent couldn’t provide.

Robin saw the
King’s own physician, Jacques walking out of the entrance, the flap
closing behind him before he headed off towards the direction of the
medical tents on the opposite side of the broken gate. He knew that
was a good sign that his King was in his own tent, perhaps still
resting and recovering from the illness that had been plaguing him
and King Phillip for the past week and half.

He knew his King
was more ill than Phillip himself, but he had pulled his strength
together and lead the charge and assault on Acre. It was a testament
to how strong Richard was and Robin had been in awe of his King’s
awesome might in pushing away his fatigue and sickness in order to
personally lead his troops. It was also why he considered Richard a
better king than the French’s Phillip who had decided to stay in
the back lines and instead let his generals do all of the work.

Taking one more
glance at his King’s tent, he ducked into his own and immediately
shucked off his gloves, handing them to Much who placed them on a
large table before helping him out of his armor. They worked in
silence, Robin undoing the straps, belts, and buckles that held his
armor together, Much taking away the pieces and putting them on the
table to be cleaned of their blood and filth from the day’s battle.

They worked in
quick silence, save for the clanging of metal on metal and the shouts
of the other men around the camp, and Robin finally removed the chain
mail shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it unceremoniously
onto the table. He didn’t bother removing his chain mail pants,
knowing that they were pretty useful in preventing scrapes and cuts,
especially in such rubble before they had a chance to clean it up.

“Here,” Much
handed him a clean shirt and he put it on, feeling somewhat clean,
but he really wanted a bath of sorts to wash the grime off of his
arms and body. Jumping into Acre’s port waters was not an option
due to the salt content and jumping into any of the nearby oasis was
definitely not an option due to the dead bodies littered everywhere.

“Thank you,”
Robin replied as Much silently handed him a small bowl of clean water
from their stores and he splashed his face, before grabbing a small
towel hanging from a chair and scrubbing his face as best as he could
with it. He glanced at the cloth and grimaced a bit as he saw that
it was nearly black with soot, dust, and blood from his battle. If
his face and hair looked like that, it was a wonder that his own men
could recognize him in his armor.

Sighing quietly, he
draped the cloth back over the back of the chair and took a slightly
cleaner version of the tunic with the crest of King Richard and put
it on. It offered little protection, but the freedom of movement,
perfect for his role as the King’s protector when there wasn’t a
huge battle to be fought. There was an optional hood that he knew
many of his men in the Guard sometimes wore, but Robin disliked
wearing it and did not do so. He liked having the ability to have
full range of vision instead of impeding it with an archer’s hood.

He knew some of his
men disagreed with his opinion about the hood, finding that without
the side view distractions and the slight darkness the hood provided
it helped them zero in on their targets. To Robin, he wanted to be
able to see everything, including potential enemies that may attack
him from the side. Plus he had the gift of being able to shoot any
target he wanted to from 100 meters and hit it dead on.

He glanced down at
his arrow pack and holstered his recurved bow across its proper place
on his pack. He had designed a small hook to secure his bow on his
pack instead of slinging it across his shoulder, but it wasn't
designed to be use in the heat of battle. Shouldering his arrow pack
again, he grabbed his sword belt and buckled it on before
straightening his tunic.

“Clean your face
before you use the water to clean the armors, all right?” he turned
to Much and saw a spark of gratefulness on his face at his
generosity. He knew that his relationship with Much was much
different than many of the other nobles who had manservants and
squires to attend them. After all they had been through for the past
four years, he had long considered Much more than a manservant and
instead saw him as a loyal friend instead.

But, however much
he wished to free Much of his duties to the Locksley household, he
could not do so yet. Not while there was so much to do and they were
so close to accomplishing the goal of recapturing Jerusalem for the
Church. Perhaps after they returned home...maybe Bonchurch would be
a good reward to Much for his services to Locksley. He knew it was
more than what other squires or servants would get for their own
services to their Lords and Masters in the Holy Land.

So he tried to
treat Much more like a fellow man than a servant. He knew many of
the other lords, generals, and commanders of King Richard frowned
upon his treatment of Much, but he didn't care. His own men
understood, having fought side by side with Much, and they understood
his instance of generosity in the midst of their bloody and violent
work. He just did not want to lose his humanity like many had
already lost in the four years they had been here.

“The King?”
Much asked as he picked up a slightly dirtied cloth and placed it in
the bowl of water before wringing it out and scrubbing his own face.

Robin nodded, “I
will be back soon.” With that, he ducked out of his own tent and
headed next door, nodding to the two knights stationed outside of the
entrance. They nodded their own greetings back before continuing to
stand at attention, not distracted by the sweat pouring down their
faces in the late-afternoon heat.

He stepped in and
immediately spotted his liege sitting amongst a pile of maps and
parchments on a table set up along one end of the tent. In the far
corner of the tent was his palate, placed right next to where the
mound of debris was thickest to prevent anyone from ambushing him.
In the middle of the tent was a large table thick with maps and small
metal figures depicting troop forces of both Salah al-Din, Phillip,
and his own forces. Robin moved to the side as a young page scurried
out of the tent, carrying a few documents.

“Sire,” he
greeted, bowing his head as he presented himself to the King.

“Lord Locksley,”
Richard did not look up from his maps and parchments, making a note
with an eagle-feathered quill before looking at another parchment.

Robin clasped his
hands behind him and stood at ease in front of his King, “Gate
skirmishes have been completed. The Fifth Column has been placed by
the portcullis and other gates to watch for ambushers. King Phillip
and his forces are beyond the ridge making camp. Captain Alphonse of
Maine led his unit into Acre to root out and capture any Saracen
remnants. I have sent my leftenant Tomas and the rest of my
men to assist him.” He recited his whole report in French,
knowing that his King preferred to speak in his native tongue instead
of English. The first thing he had learned in his studies when he
was younger was speaking the languages of both English and French.
His father had originally thought to perhaps offer up the Locksley
family as spies within the King's court, but that idea had not come
to fruition due to the elder Locksley's untimely death.

“And what of
Grand Master de Sable?” Richard asked, still not looking up
from his parchment and make another mark, this time on the map.

“He had other
issues to attend to, milord,” Richard knew that he and Robert
did not get along ever since he had asked King Phillip to use the
Grand Master as one of his spearheads in their campaign towards Acre.
It wasn't the matter of having to work with the Frenchman, after all
he knew his King barely spoke a word of English and preferred his
Norman lands to English soil even though he was their king.

He never held that
against Richard, though he knew amongst some of the English nobles,
they were not too happy. The peasantry populace however, was
thankfully unaware of Richard's own preferences. Even some of his
own generals were unaware, and Robin intended to keep it that way.

No, he and Robert
de Sable did not get along because of all the rumors that had
surrounded the man since his appointment as Grand Master of the
Knights Templar earlier in the year. There were rumors and
suspicions as to how someone who had only recently joined the Knights
Templar had been made Grand Master when there were infinitely more
qualified men who had been with the Knights Templar for a much longer
period. Plus there was something about the man that had him on edge
all of the time. A dark aura of sorts that made Robin naturally
suspicious. De Sable was too ambitious, too mysterious to warrant
any less attention.

Plus there was the
little matter of de Sable trying to dismiss the King's Private Guard
as nothing more than frivolous, saying that his Knights Templar were
the only forces who could properly protect the King. Now that Robin
had an issue with...and one that his men also had a serious issue
with. No one dismissed the King's Private Guard after preventing an
assassination attempt on him just over a year ago.

“Issues?”
Richard finally looked up from his parchment, a frown on his face,
his red eyebrows in a 'v' shape on his forehead.

“He said he was
going to pray to God, sire,” Robin replied as neutrally as
possible, “I suspect he may have gone to Solomon's Temple in
Jerusalem.”

“Sire, we are in
the process of securing Acre and clearing out pocket remnants of
rebellion. Jaffa and Arsuf are of no consequence to his Holiness the
Pope and they are controlled by Saracens. Damascus is a Saracen
stronghold. I believe, he may have gone to Jerusalem.”

“With his men?”

“No sire,”
Robin shook his head, “I believe with only a small group of his
loyal Knights Templar.”

Richard looked at
him curiously, “On Phillip's orders?”

“I do not
know, sire,” Robin replied honestly, “shall I
investigate?”

His King paused for
a second, thinking before holding up a hand, “Discreetly, on
your own time, Lord Locksley. If it is on Phillip's orders then he
may know of a faster way into Jerusalem than he is letting on.”

Robin nodded once,
“As you command.” He sketched a short bow before turning
around and leaving the King to his work once more. Stepping out of
the tent he weighed his options. He knew that he would need to first
figure out if de Sable had gone to Jerusalem as Carter had suggested.
Perhaps he could send Corin to ask a few innocent questions. The
young boy was well-liked as an efficient page by many of the other
captains, not really directly reporting to any one commander save for
the King himself.

However, what
Richard had said about perhaps Phillip ordering Robert may have
merit. He knew the two Kings did not really like each other, even
though they were polite and deferred to each's own expertise in
certain situations. Whoever conquered Jerusalem would win the glory
of the Pope in this Crusade. If Phillip was ambitious enough to know
of a different way into Jerusalem, he would undermine Richard's
authority over a majority of the troops.

But, Richard had
told him to investigate on his own time, which meant his King was not
too concerned with Phillip trying to undermine him. However, he was
curious as to what his wayward Grand Master was doing. He knew his
King was more occupied with his own health and those of his own men.
He wanted to quickly secure Acre and move on, that was of the
objective. The underlying message was clear – if Robert de Sable
wanted to get himself killed going to Jerusalem without the backup of
an army then it was fine and would be God's will.

Robin's task in
this was to make sure that de Sable wasn't going to Jerusalem to
betray Richard's forces to Salah al-Din. But he had to be
discreet... That task was easier said than done. However, it wasn't
impossible. Many generals and commanders of Richard's ignored him,
seeing him as one of the troops. It was if he were to question de
Sable's men and the Knights Templar directly was where he was going
to find trouble. Then there were some of the more troublesome
commanders like James of Atherstone, Captain of the Second and Third
Guard under the Fourth Column.

He had his
suspicions that James was de Sable's own spy within Richard's camp,
reporting to both Phillip and de Sable, but he couldn't prove his
suspicions. What he could prove was that the man was sadistic and
loved bloodshed. Then there was William of Montferrat. On loan from
Phillip to bolster the First Column, he was most definitely loyal to
the French cause and saw Richard as an obstacle to the French
regaining their lands in Normandy and kicking out whom they thought
was a foreign King on their soil.

However, Robin knew
that there was nothing he could do about William and so did Richard.
The man was a seasoned veteran of the Second Crusades and had also
been captured during the Battle of Hattin and released by Salah
al-Din a year later as a truce of sorts. Both Phillip and Richard
saw William as a valuable and knowledgeable ally. The man came out
even more dangerous, in Robin's opinion, knowledgeable or not.

However, had heard
rumors about the rift between his second son, Conrad who governed
Tyre, and William. Rumor had it that the two did not see eye to eye.
Perhaps if he sent a messenger to Tyre to snoop about for
information about William? It was a thought, but not a practical
one. It would take time to get messages from Tyre and back and by
then, Robert may have already made his move – whatever it was.

The only thing he
knew he could do at the moment was to wait until Robert made his
move, until then, he would wait. Watching and listening to all the
rumors carefully.

It was at least a
week later when news reached them that the Grand Master of the
Knights Templar had pulled all of his troops, including Carter's
Fifth Column for a skirmish somewhere north. It was another week
later when the troops returned, at least a third of the small army
missing. King Richard personally met the battered and haggard troops
outside of Acre, the portcullis rebuilt and most of the debris
cleared away. However, the smell of dead and decayed bodies still
lingered. King Phillip of France had fallen ill once more and was
overcome by severe dysentery.

Robin stood on one
of the makeshift parapets by the gates, his bow strung and ready to
fire at anyone who looked remotely suspicious. Even though all of
the Crusaders marching in were wearing the colors of the Knights
Templar, he and his men wouldn't take any chances of a potential
Saracen amongst them looking for the opportunity to assassinate the
King.

One of their nearly
2,700 Saracen prisoners from the battle two weeks ago had proven that
when Richard had visited them. Poor Seamus had taken blade meant for
Richard by only happenstance. Robin had immediately killed the
Saracen, but there was nothing they could do for Seamus. The man
lingered for two more days before finally dying in the early hours of
the morning amidst a blood-red dawn. Seamus had a proper burial and
Robin had said a few kind words, but he had felt hollowed when they
had buried the young man.

He had seen so many
deaths, so many defeated and beaten looks on his men and even amongst
their prisoners that he felt immune to them, like they were nothing
to the hardened shield he had over his heart. He had killed the
Saracen assassin like it was nothing, quickly dispatching him with
his short blade before anything else could happen. There was no
questioning of why the man did it, or why it had to happen. Just
kill and let it be done.

More than once in
this year he had wished they would just capture Jerusalem and then
let them all go home. He missed the quiet green fields of Locksley,
the gentleness of the woods and the forests of Sherwood. He missed
seeing his peasants, friends, even the familiar walls of Nottingham
Castle. But most of all he missed-

Robin immediately
mentally shut himself from seeing her face. The face of his beloved;
gentle, youthful, ever smiling. A bitter thought formed in his
head...she was probably married now, some noble who had not answered
the call of their King, was her husband. Probably with at least one
or two children. Marian would not wait for him as she had promised.

He pulled himself
from his thoughts as he finally saw Carter and his cavalry force
riding behind him. At least more than half looked exhausted,
haggard, and did not march in a tight formation. Carter himself was
sporting a few bloody cuts on his face and looked like he was
favoring his left side as he sat on his horse. He glanced down
towards his King and saw him already deep in a quiet but slightly
animated discussion with de Sable, the two of them moving slowly away
from the main group.

“Tomas,” he
called over to his second in command who unstrung his bow and nodded,
pointing out four other men before barking orders to them and they
left their posts and headed towards the King. The four of them
formed a loose perimeter around the two, following the King's own
personal knights back into Acre.

“Much,” he
murmured quietly to his servant, standing next to him, bow out, but
not drawn. While Much was as much of a fighter as Robin was, he was
also not recognized as an official Crusader since he held no lands or
titles, nor was drafted to serve like some of the peasantry. “Check
on Carter, make sure he gets a physician to look at him. I know
Jordan may worry over him, but he can be easily pushed aside by
Carter.”

Jordan was Carter's
own manservant; a smallish mousy man who easily scared and did not
really go into battle unlike Much. He was instead usually instructed
to help move the supplies from camp to camp. Robin knew that Carter
would try to push Much away, but thankfully his friend was much more
stubborn than anyone gave him credit for. He also knew that Carter,
while arrogant to a fault at times, was also a self-sacrificial man,
having seen his older brother, Thomas die a year ago after leading a
rash assault on a village in the northern areas.

Robin had
personally led the rescue mission to help the seasoned warrior, but
it was too late. The original Fifth Column had been obliterated by
Salah al-Din’s forces and the village was left in ruins. That had
also been one Richard’s heaviest losses and he had de Sable
commission a new Fifth Column to replace the one that had been lost
and Carter was nominated to take over his brother’s command.

As a result of his
brother’s violent death and his appointment to lead the new Fifth
Column, Carter had developed a self-sacrificial streak, not wanting
to see so many of his men die and preferred them to get treatment
before he did, even though his own wounds were sometimes grievous.

“Yes Master,”
Much replied before climbing down from the parapet and hurrying over
to Carter’s horse and tug on the charger’s bridle before chatting
with the man who was looking curiously down at him. Next to Much
standing by the horse was Jordan who had a slightly relieved
expression on his face, seeing a potential ally in the simple-minded
man.

Robin saw Much
gesture a bit with his hands before Carter’s head turned slightly,
his eyes seeking him out and he gave him a small nod as Carter found
him and frowned. He decided to keep his expression as neutral as
possible and met the blond-haired man’s gaze with a simple one of
his own before Carter finally turned away and allowed his charger to
be lead in by both Jordan and Much towards the makeshift hospital
tents within Acre.

“Men, form up,”
he projected his voice to the rest of the Private Guard and they
acknowledged by climbing down from whatever structure they had
decided to use as their perches or secured location point, and
forming up next to the remaining bedraggled forces marching in.

The Private Guard
numbered around thirty men, all whom were completely loyal and
hand-picked by Robin himself to protect the King. Many of them were
not masters of any weapons, but rather jack-of-all-trades men, both
good with archery and swords. Some of his men also specialized in
other forms of unique weaponry, axes, halberds, and even one wielded
a sledgehammer of sorts.

However, half of
them were still stationed inside Acre, making sure to watch over the
King at all times and Robin gestured for his archers to follow him
back in. He saw Richard, still in a slightly heated discussion with
Robert de Sable and gestured wordlessly for his men to form a
perimeter around the surrounding buildings, joining up with the
others of the Private Guards.

Briefly sharing a
look with Tomas who was standing near Richard, he made a quick
gesture with his hands, a silent signal for him to take over in his
stead. He had a feeling that the King was going to take a while to
chastise de Sable about why he had returned with at least fifty less
men and almost three quarters of the Knights Templar injured in some
way. A small part of him was glad that de Sable’s ego was getting
knocked down a few pegs, but he quickly quashed that part of him.
Men had died today and he did not need to glorify in their leader’s
incompetence.

Tomas acknowledged
the switch over with a practiced ease of a flickering hand before
Robin headed off to the hospital tents. They were mostly empty, the
main bulk of the physicians, most of them belonging to the Knights
Hospitalier, had moved to the fortress near the middle of the city.
It was by the debris walls which separated the two western entrances
of the city. Robin knew that Richard was originally set to use the
fortress as his base, but instead, after they had cleared the city of
any remnant Saracens, had discovered a better fortified and less
damaged fortification alongside the rocky southern coast of Acre.

Richard’s
fortification jutted neatly out into the sea, allowing him visibility
towards the southern reaches where Jerusalem was, but also prevented
anyone from potentially ambushing him by land or by sea. It had
originally taken the Private Guard and a majority of the First Column
a while to clear out of remnant Saracen forces. Immediately
afterwards, Richard had put William of Montferrat in charge of
rebuilding and tasking him with the governorship of Acre.

Meanwhile, Garnier
de Naplouse, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier appointed
himself lord and ruler of the ruined fortification as well as the
main medical facility were within the city. Richard did not argue
with it, letting King Phillip’s man having run of his little
fortification. It also helped since now the pilgrims and refugees
have a place to rest and heal before they continued their way deeper
into the city or onwards to Jerusalem. Ever since they had captured
Acre over two weeks ago, pilgrims had been flocking to Acre to pay
their respects at the impressively built Cathedral of the Holy Cross
before continuing on.

During the initial
skirmish upon what was now called Richard’s Citadel, Robin and the
men following him had lingered a bit at the massively huge cathedral
that was before the Citadel, wondering how God had built such a
magnificent structure.

After the battle,
he had only visited once more, staring from one of the nearby
rooftops towards the spire. A brief thought had occurred to him
there, seeing a few loose and jutting bricks and tiles. If he hadn’t
been afraid of falling to death from such a height, he wondered if he
could climb all the way up to its cross. What a magnificent view of
the city the architect that had built the cathedral must have gotten
by placing the cross so high up there. He had probably even touched
the face of God while doing so…

He quickly checked
the remnant hospital tents and saw that only a few Crusades with
minor wounds were there. There was no sign of Carter, Much, or
Jordan and he suspected that meant that the blond-haired Crusader had
a much more serious wound which required him to go to the Hospitalier
fortress.

He immediately
headed there, his boots splashing on the rancid water left in the
streets, avoiding as best as he could the fecal matter, blood, and
other bodily wastes still left on the streets. This was definitely
the poorest of all the districts within Acre, being the most heavily
shelled and battered of all. He saw beggars wandering the streets,
some trying to plead with pilgrims to give them some money for food,
others just wandering around aimlessly, occasionally shoving a
pilgrim or even merchants who were cautiously making their way back
into the city.

The murmurs of
shops selling broken wares were a mix of Arabic, English, French, and
even a smattering of German. Robin understood almost all of the
languages spoken, with the exception of German since he had not had
exposure to the hard-sounding language when he was young. He had
picked up Arabic in his four years in the Holy Lands, finding it very
useful to eavesdrop on unsuspecting merchants or pilgrims who thought
him as an ignorant Crusader. He couldn’t speak it quite as well,
but it was somewhat passable to issue commands to civilians to either
evacuate or to calm them down if they were in a panic.

Through his walk
towards the Hospitalier fortress, he kept a watchful eye on his
surroundings for anyone acting suspicious. It was calm now, two
weeks after the battle, but he did not doubt for a second that there
were assassins or even spies within the city, gathering information
to give to Salah al-Din. Above him a few guards patrolled the
rooftops, watching the people down below and even some of the
Hospitaliers and other Crusaders patrolled the streets, all of them
wary and cautious.

Most of the
uniforms were the white-crosses on black tunics of the Hospitaliers,
Garnier’s men, but Robin did not doubt that their loyalty was to
the Crusaders and the cause of recapturing Jerusalem. He had no
personal grudge against Garnier or the Knights Hospitalier, but he
was curious as to why they all looked at Richard and his emblem with
such disdain at times.

He ignored their
looks as he was doing at the moment, but he wondered why they held
such an animosity. He walked into the small courtyard beyond the
portcullis of the fortress and looked around, frowning. There were
patients, both civilians and Crusaders milling about, some wandering
around aimlessly others wide eyed and seemingly in a fog of
wonderment as they walked drunkenly around.

“Excuse me,”
he asked in French, stopping a nun who was walking from one of the
entrances to another, “have you seen a blond-haired man with
Richard’s emblem? Captain rank?”

“Over there,”
the nun smiled kindly at him before curtsying and hurrying away.
Robin followed where she pointed her finger, brushing past a few
Crusaders and civilians, side-stepping to narrowly avoid a glancing
blow from a drunkard who looked like he was just spinning in random
circles.

He finally found
Carter, being examined by a physician for a nasty looking hip wound
on the man’s left side. Without his chain mail and tunics on, the
paleness of Carter’s chest stood out against the bleak grey
backdrop of the Hospitalier fortress. Robin saw numerous
crisscrossed scars of old wounds and scratches received from battle
for the past year since Carter had taken over the Fifth Column. He
knew his own body was in similar shape, but seeing the scars on
someone else’s body somehow unnerved Robin a little.

He saw Much and
Jordan standing a bit away from them, Carter’s squire looking more
than fretful and Much looking like he wanted to calm the man down,
but wasn’t quite sure how to do it.

“Robin,” Carter
gave him a wincing smile, looking up at him from where he laid on a
palate. The physician was pulling a needle and stitching through his
wound. It was still bleeding, but a nun next to the physician made
sure to dab the bleeding wound whenever it dripped down his side.

“Carter,” he
pulled up a stool and sat down near the man, giving him a rueful
smile, “finally found something that could make you bleed?”

“A pike from one
of those damned Saracens,” Carter replied before stifling a hiss as
best as he could as the physician finished up, tying the black
stitching into a rather large knot.

“Saladin?” he
asked. If Robert had encountered Saracens then perhaps he was wrong
about the man’s intentions. Maybe in his four years here he had
become more paranoid with the threat of attack hanging over them for
so long. Maybe it was he who had broken instead of Robert de Sable
as he originally had thought. That sobering thought cut through
Robin like a knife to butter. If he truly thought that…

“Assassins,”
Carter spat the word like a curse and it jolted Robin from his dark
thoughts.

“What?” he
blinked, “Assassins?” Maybe he wasn’t going crazy after
all…maybe Robert de Sable did have a hidden agenda.

“We got the order
to ride north, across the deserts and mountains to some little
fortification called Masyaf,” Carter pushed himself up from his
palate as the nun quickly bandaged his wound, wrapping the white
clean cloth around his waist a few times before finally finishing up
and curtsied to Carter and himself before hurrying away. Robin
barely acknowledged the nun’s departure, too focused on the
blond-haired man’s words.

“What happened?
Why attack some town we are not interested in?” he wondered if
attacking the rumored stronghold of the mysterious Hashshashin sect,
or Assassins in the English tongue, was such a bright idea. And was
it related to whatever Robert had said about praying a couple of
weeks ago?

Carter shrugged,
taking a slightly dirt-smudged white shirt and putting it on before
putting his tunic with the crest of the Knights Templar back on.
“Robert didn't say,” he said, “only that we were to attack
Masyaf for scouting purposes.”

“Scouting,”
Robin stated flatly, “the man has you attacking the Assassins'
stronghold for scouting. We are at war with Saladin, not with the
Assassins!”

“You think I
don't know that?” Carter glared at him, “I lost ten of my men
when those damned bastards loosened logs from what we had thought was
just a scout tower. Fifteen more before that when Robert had the
bright idea to attack civilians in the ravine town.”

“He attacked
civilians?” if there was one line that Robin had never vowed to
cross in his four years in the Holy Lands it was always to spare
civilians whenever possible. Sometimes that wasn't the case as the
civilians themselves became warriors or even silent assassins. He
knew Robert had no qualms about attacking civilians, having seemingly
lost his humanity somewhere in the midst of battling against Salah
al-Din's forces.

“We thought they
were all Assassins until the real ones came to let the townsfolk
escape up to their fortress,” Carter frowned, staring at one of the
stone-pocketed walls. Robin knew he probably blamed himself for
launching an attack on civilians, but how could he know with such an
unknown quantity.

“Masyaf is the
stronghold of the Assassins,” a slightly nasal heavily
French-accented voice spoke up near them. Robin turned slightly to
see the resident head physician and Grand Master of the Knights
Hospitalier Garnier de Naplouse examining a patient lying on a palate
next to Carter's.

“Grand Master,”
he greeted, “I did not know you were aware of what has happened in
Masyaf.”

“My patients,”
the slightly built Frenchman looked over them down his hooked-nose,
“all but talk of their misdeeds and nightmares. It is simple to
pick up the murmurings of my children and try to soothe them.

“But it is as you
may say, a wolf in sheep's clothing, yes?” Garnier scratched his
chin, “for all Robert may have known, everyone was an Assassin.”

“True,” Carter
shrugged, “haven't really thought of that point. Still doesn't
make me feel any better losing twenty-five of my men for a poorly
fought battle.”

“They are with
God, young one,” Garnier bent over his patient once more before
making a small clucking noise and walked away to another bed,
engrossed in his work once more.

Both Robin and
Carter shared a look before Much huffed near them, crossing his arms,
“Mental, I tell you...”

Robin had to laugh
a bit at his statement and Carter also grinned in return. However,
he immediately sobered up and leaned over quietly, “I do have to
tell you something since I know you're looking into the Grand
Master's plans.”

“I am not,”
Robin immediately denied, wiping the smile from his face.

Carter gave him a
look that plainly said he knew he was lying, “I know I am your
source of information for anything that goes on within the Knights
Templar and we both know that I am on Robert's good side at the
moment; though that may change since he got twenty-five of my men
killed for no good reason.”

Robin looked at
Carter, weighing whether or not he could trust the man. Carter was a
good man, he knew that, but how deep his loyalty ran to Robert de
Sable if it was proven that the Grand Master was a traitor he did not
know. His King had commanded him to be discreet and to investigate
on his own time. So far no one else had figured it out that he was
investigating de Sable, but he knew given their history that it may
come out sooner than expected. Carter was the first one to figure it
out, but then again, he was also a prime source of information. By
telling Carter and letting him in, he risked being fed false
information or having his own investigations go against him should
Carter report back to Robert.

But to not trust
Carter would be slamming the metaphoric door of their friendship on
his face. And it was about then that he realized what he had lost in
the Holy Lands. He lost faith and he lost the ability to trust
anyone save for his own King. That was not an issue of trust, but
rather it was loyalty. He didn't even trust Much, constantly
cautioning him, ignoring him when he felt like he was whining. He
didn't really trust Tomas to lead in his stead. It was just out of
habit that he knew Tomas would lead when he was there. But he always
had to check everything that his men did just to be sure that
everything was all right.

Robin made a
decision, “I am to assure of Robert's loyalty to our cause. Any
information you can provide to prove that assurance would be
helpful.” It wasn't saying out loud that he trusted Carter, but
rather it was a more formal way of saying that he wasn't going to
slam the door of friendship in his face. He hoped Carter got the
message and saw him sit back, his face neutral before giving him a
crooked smile.

“Two can play
that game, Locksley,” Carter replied before leaning forward again,
“Robert met us half way to Masyaf from farther south. Rumor has it
he rode from Jerusalem saying something about a stolen treasure of
God.”

“Something to
help in our Crusade?” Robin asked quietly, “a weapon?”

Carter shrugged,
“That's all I heard...”

Robin nodded. He
wanted to tell Carter to keep him posted on anymore information, but
that would bring him into his investigation and ultimately he did not
want to compromise the man's position within the Knights Templar.
There would be other means of finding out information...and if
Garnier de Naplouse indicated as such, patients within the
Hospitalier fortress would be a good place to gather information.

There was still the
lingering question of why de Sable had attacked Masyaf in the first
place and how was it related to Jerusalem? They had no quarrel with
the Hashshashin and as far as Robin knew of the politics within the
Holy Lands, the Hashshashin of Masyaf were extremely neutral in this
war. Their only mandate as far as he could tell was highly visible
political assassination of those who were corrupt men in the cities
they ruled. They did not want anything to do with King Richard and
Phillip's Crusade.

He got up, gripping
hands once the Knight Templar, “Get well soon Carter and thank
you.”

Carter returned the
firm hand shake with a slight twinkle in his eye, showing that he had
forgiven Robin for abrupt attitude, “Any time.”

Robin caught Much's
eye and the two of them headed out, Jordan bustling behind them to
finally attend to his stubborn master. As soon as they were back in
the open courtyard of the fortress, he turned to Much, “Much, can I
trust you to be discreet?”

“Of course,” he
looked a bit affronted.

“See if you can
find out from the others what de Sable was doing in Jerusalem. But
don't let anyone else know what you're looking for,” he cautioned.

“Robin?” Much
looked a bit confused.

He shook his head
as they stepped back out into the streets of Acre and looked around,
“Robert is up to something. I don't know what, but I want to make
sure that it won't harm the King in any way.”

“Do you think the
Assassins will come after the King since Grand Master de Sable
attacked them?” Much asked quietly as they headed deeper into the
city, towards Richard's Citadel.

Robin glanced at
his manservant in surprise. He had not really considered the idea.
He did not know how the Hashshashin would react to such an attack
because he did not know how their society or laws worked. What he
did know was that they had strictly refused to help Salah al-Din and
that they were an outcast branch of the Muslim faith that followed
different tenets. Was it possible that they would interpret de
Sable's attack as the harbinger of an incoming Christian force?

“For de Sable's
sake he better hope that does not happen,” he finally replied to
Much's inquiry, “otherwise I will kill him first.”

FateFellShort:
I have read this story and have followed the writers on tumblr from the beginning. Its a wonderful story. Beautifully written with a really nice pace, that makes it enjoyable to read more than once. For me, fairy tail has very good characters but what the writers have done is give them more depth...

Carolyn Hahn-Re:
I really liked this story! The writing was well done, and the plot was suspenseful. I couldn't stop reading chapter after chapter, on the edge of my seat! The characters were well developed, and true to form. Thank you so much for this wonderful read.

Sonya YuntHatton:
Are you going to be posting the rest? I read this when originally posted on Fanfiction. LOVE IT!!! Was so glad when it came our as an original book!! And now the MOVIE!!! Holy Mary I am so excited.....But I'm going to HATE, HATE, HATE the wait for part 2. Please let me know if and when you're goi...

Jessie:
I wrote a review on fanfiction but I thought it would be fitting to write on on here too :) This story was honestly stunning. I am a budding writer myself and to read this- to FEEL this- reminded me of why I am honoured to have this passion and drive for a craft that is just so raw and beautiful.

PaulSenkel:
If you like Arthur C. Clarke's Odyssey, especially The Final Odyssey, then you will probably also enjoy this book. I definitely did.It does, however, address a more adolescent public than the above-mentioned book.I enjoyed the story and finished it in a few days. The overall situation on earth an...

Ben Gauger:
Kudos to Bryan Laesch, author of Remnants of Chaos:Chaotic Omens for his use of the Gothic style of writing and in addition the footnotes and endnotes at the end of each chapter, a welcome accompaniment to be sure, though his use of grammar could use a little improving, but his use of punctuation...

LouiseJ2:
I enjoyed the detail you went into with regards to the case. It made the UNSUB appear believable. The crisis in the middle of the story was my favorite part, very dramatic but not over the top. I feel like sometimes pairings can be overdone but I liked that some of the relationships were a little...

Sandra Estrada:
I loved every minute of it and I thank my lucky stars that brought me to the story, it's been a whirlwind of emotions, plot twist after plot twist but I never got tired of them. Abby and Kade's story is a hard one to understand but once you're submerged in their story and love, you can't help but...

Warchief:
The biggest problem with the Harry Potter series is that it's all from his point of view. So we never really get to see or understand events from other peoples perspective. I think that they would be more than a few people that want to know what happened at Hogwarts during that last year.As far a...